


right there where we stood was holy ground

by babygotbackstrom



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-03 11:25:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10966239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babygotbackstrom/pseuds/babygotbackstrom
Summary: The revamped Tre Kronor line, of Nicky and his soulmates, is mesmerising.Sasha is jealous again, and it is ugly, even though the team is leading the division.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ANOTHER SOULMATE AU because i have a type, apparently. (or a lack of originality.) thanks to the crew.

It isn’t polite to knock on one’s teammate’s door so early in the morning but, in Sasha’s defence, he’s not hammering the door down. It’s September and training camp will start in a few days and he’s not the first who’s eager to meet the newest Washington Capital.

The newest Washington Capital has come at a price. Not even soulmates can be shifted between teams for free. Jojo’s gone to Toronto, with Brooks, and they’ve got some young defensive prospect and, well —

Nicky opens the door. He’s shirtless because he knew it would be Sasha. He’s shirtless and there’s a bite mark on the ball of his shoulder, and over his collarbone, and at the base of his throat. 

“Your new soulmate a vampire, Nicky?” asks Sasha. It comes out harsher than he intends but maybe it’s too soon to joke.

Predicting compatible soulmates is difficult. If it was just down to pretty assists, Nicky would have more soulmates than fingers and toes.

“We need it,” says Nicky, simply. He sees where Sasha’s gaze is traveling and he drags his fingertips over his collarbone. 

That’s not fair. It’s not fair. Sasha has needed Nicky for so much longer and there hasn’t been so much as a tingle and here Nicky is, bonding with this kid after two shifts of hockey, if the Swedish media are to be believed. 

“Why?” asks Sasha. He knows he’s whining. He standing on Nicky’s front door and he’s whining because apparently Greenie wasn’t enough, and Burkie isn’t enough, and Nicky still feels guilty about Filip. 

“It just happened,” says Nicky and he’s calm. He’s too calm. He’s shielding like nothing else and he’s probably furious that Sasha woke him up. 

“Nicke?” calls a voice from inside. “Who is it?” 

“Our captain,” says Nicklas, fixing Sasha with a glare. “He’s come to welcome you to the team.”

“Oh.” The voice sounds pleased; it’s warm on that single syllable. Sasha can feel it. It’s real, he supposes. He wonders if the soulmates in between can feel it. He wonders if Greenie is rolling over and smiling in his sleep because he can feel Nicky’s happiness in a new soulmate. He wonders if Sasha Semin is happy in that shared happiness and that is why Sasha himself feels calm.

William Nylander is a lot bigger than Sasha was expecting but it has been years. His hair is too long and it’s messy, finger-furrows defying gravity. His skin is smooth and pristine. Nicky has never been a biter. Nicky slings his arm around little Nylander’s waist and Sasha sees the gesture for what it is; protective and possessive. Sasha might be the captain but this team belongs to Nicklas, too. 

“Hello again,” says Nylander, smiling because as well he might. 

“Welcome back to Washington,” says Sasha, and he offers Nylander a fistbump. “Now, tell your grumpy soulmate to invite me in for breakfast.” 

There is a faint surge of surprise, that’s maybe taken the scenic route, ricocheting from coast to coast before it crosses the doorstep from Nicky to Sasha. 

Nicky smiles. “Come in, Sasha.”

.

Sasha calls Zhenya because it’s still there. 

“Should we have fucked?” 

“Good afternoon to you, too, Sasha. I’m well, thank you. So is Sidney.”

“Yes, fine, whatever, I hope you and your fucking Stanley-Cup winning robot are super happy.”

“We are, thank you. Now, why the fuck are you calling?”

“Can’t a guy just call his first soulmate for unselfish reasons?” There’s silence. “Fine. _Fine_.”

“Jealousy is not a good look, Sasha. It never has been.” 

“What would you know?”

“What has Nicklas done now, other than bring home another stray Swede?” 

Sasha doesn’t say anything. 

“Oh, Sasha, have you ever considered—”

“No,” says Sasha. “No. We have to be. I don’t understand why we’re not.”

“The right soulmate at the wrong time is the wrong soulmate, Sasha.”

“What does that make us, Zhenya?” 

“A pair of idiots who bonded over fast food in North Dakota before they were old enough to know better.”

“I still think we should have fucked.” 

.

Anxiety pings around the ice, faster than a puck. 

Nicky raises his head like a prairie dog and skates over to Tom. 

“What’s wrong with Big Willy?” mutters Dima. 

“He’s jealous of Little Willy,” says Kuzy.

They both slant looks at Sasha and he hates them both.

 

Aside from Zhenya, and Sasha Semin, Sasha’s bonds with other Russian players are muted. They probably wouldn’t exist at all without a fierce shared loyalty to their country. 

Tom and Nicky are joined by Burkie and Nylander and it’s like the sun pierces the clouds and Sasha remembers the good things about this team. There are more soulbonds here than in any other NHL team and if it comes at the cost of a Stanley Cup, Sasha supposes that he can’t defend it but the rink is awash with warmth and steady confidence and he finds he can’t care about anything other than playing hockey with these men.

.

The revamped Tre Kronor line, of Nicky and his soulmates, is mesmerising. 

Sasha is jealous again, and it is ugly, even though the team is leading the division.

He thinks, this time, his team’s dependence on soulbonds might win them a Cup but he has thought that every year. It is hard not to look at the intricate web of D-men and Schmidty’s sunshine smile and not believe.

There is a party at Osh’s house and Sasha lowers himself onto the couch next to Nicky, who looks serene and comfortable, resting a bottle of beer on his thigh. Sasha lists ever so slightly closer. 

“Where are your boys?” asks Sasha, not without an edge. 

“I think they’re calling it dancing,” says Nicky, not rising to the bait as he gestures towards the throng with his bottle. He turns slightly towards Sasha and it feels good, to have the whole hard line of Nicky’s side pressed against his. 

Speak of the devil, though, and he’ll appear; or at least the smaller, younger, blonder one will. Nylander is drunk and Sasha watches the way Nicky smiles up at him as he weaves determinedly towards the couch. There’s no space for anyone else and Sasha’s brief moment of fierce joy ends abruptly as Nylander lowers himself onto Nicky’s lap. 

Nicky’s arm goes around him and Nylander says something in Swedish.

“English, please,” says Nicky, reprovingly. 

Nylander’s smile is bright before he hides his face against Nicky’s neck. Sasha shifts a little. Nicky raises his hand to bury his fingers in Nylander’s hair and he grins at Sasha. 

“It’s a good team this year,” says Nicky and, okay, Sasha supposes they’re going to talk, even though Nicky’s got a hand resting high up on Nylander’s thigh and Nylander appears to be actively kissing the side of Nicky’s neck. “I really think we can do it.”

“We always _can_ do it,” says Sasha. “We never do.” 

“Then we will,” says Nicky, like a proclamation, like a certainty, as he sits on Osh’s couch, thigh to thigh with Sasha, before he turns his head and kisses Nylander.

Sasha has seen Nicky kissing other men before so it is not curiosity that makes him watch or that makes him imagine the soft moans that Nicky might be sipping from Nylander’s lips. Nicky is patient here, too, until Nylander twists around to straddle Nicky’s lap and his thigh insinuates its way between Sasha’s and Nicky’s thighs. Nylander is smiling down at Nicky and there is something in Nicky’s expression that winds Sasha; that knocks the breath out of him as completely as a bodycheck against the boards. Nicky and Nylander look at each other intently until they both break into wider smiles.

“ _English_ ,” Nicky says on a laugh.

Sasha frowns. Nylander hadn’t said a word.

.

When Sasha goes down in a game against the Ducks, he’s not even sure he’ll be missed on the ice, much less off it.

.

It isn’t polite to knock on one’s teammate’s door so early in the morning but, for all the things that Nicky is, polite isn’t one of them. 

“Why are you here?” asks Sasha, wearily and warily. Neither of them look at the crutches leaning against the wall by the front door.

“I do not need our paperchain of soulmates to tell me how you feel.”

Nicky does not wait to be invited in. He shoves Alex inside and closes the door behind him. 

“And how do I feel, Nicky?” Sasha wants to sneer but there’s something forbidding in Nicky’s expression.

“Even if you were not giving the entire Metro division a migraine with your goddamned sulking, I would know.” 

“How?” demands Sasha. “We are not soulmates.’

Nicky laughs. He stares at Sasha and he laughs, open-mouthed, the corners of his eyes creasing. 

“And why is that?” 

Sasha can’t believe that Nicky is going to make him say it. “Because we’re not—”

Nicky has that expression on his face; the one that’s long-suffering and unimpressed and isn’t directed towards Sasha as often as one might think.

“We’re not what, Sasha?” 

Sasha bites his lip. It hurts, it hurts, that it’s been so easy with his countrymen and he’s had to fight Nicky every step of the way. “We’re not compatible.” 

He expects Nicky to laugh but Nicky looks suddenly so sad that Sasha can feel it under his ribs, like an icy dart. “You really believe that?” 

Sasha shrugs. “What else is there to believe?”

“Did you really think it would be easy, just because it’s us?” asks Nicky, and he is quiet for the longest time. Sasha doesn’t think Nicky is searching for words, the way he sometimes is during post-game interviews. Nicky sighs and cups Sasha’s face, his thumbs stroking the corners of Sasha’s mouth. “Can you not believe that I choose you?” 

Sasha swallows thickly. “It’s not that simple.”

“No? Open your eyes, Alex.”

Sasha doesn’t remember closing his eyes. When he opens them, though, all he can see is Nicky staring intently at him. “I choose you, Sasha, you unrelenting _idiot_. I’ve chosen you every year for over a decade so if that’s something you want—”

“Nicky,” says Sasha, brokenly.

“It’s okay if you don’t want sex,” says Nicky, too matter-of-factly for this to be anything but real, no matter how unreal it feels. “I know it’s not for everyone, especially you Russians. But if you want me—”

Sasha surges forward to shut Nicky up with a kiss because it seems like the only way to express how he feels.

They’ve touched often; on the ice and in locker rooms and on planes. Sasha has tucked his feet under Nicky’s thighs on couches in every waiting room of his life and it has never, ever been like this. It has never been like sparks and liquid fire.

Sasha has touched his other soulmates but it has never been like this. 

Nicky pulls back and Sasha whines. 

Sasha can feel it, too, the whisper of it, thrumming under his skin. Nicky smiles at him again, if he ever stopped smiling.

“Did you never know that all you had to say was yes?”


	2. Chapter 2

“He’s like that in bed, too,” says Nylander. His eyes are fixed on the ice below and his voice carries only as far as Sasha. “So patient.”

Sasha isn’t sure why Nylander is telling him this. Sasha knows what Nicky is like in bed; they have spent entire off-days naked in Sasha’s house even if Nicky always goes home to his baby bondlings.

Sasha isn’t sure why Nylander is telling him what he already knows except there is a warmth spreading through him, from the chest outwards, and Sasha looks across the ice to see Nicky sitting, expressionless, on the bench, leaning forward slightly, resting one forearm on the boards. 

Oh. Oh. Nylander is _good_. 

“I thought you meant bossy,” says Sasha, because that’s true of Nicky, too. 

A moment passes and Nylander laughs, a conduit for Nicky’s amusement.

“Stop distracting him,” says Sasha.

“You stop distracting him,” says Nylander.

As though Nicklas Backstrom can be distracted from the task at hand, when the task is guiding his team to victory while his captain and his linemate are up in the pressbox. Sasha expects to be back for the post-season and Nylander’s injury is minor. He’s a kid. He bounces or whatever.

“I thought you were soulmates,” says Nylander.

“We _are_ ,” says Sasha. He knows what Nylander means, though. 

“Pretty much everyone in the league thought you were soulmates,” says Nylander. “And you just hadn’t declared it.”

“Don’t tell Nicky people thought that. He’ll be mad at me.” 

Nylander snorts and it’s indelicate and juvenile and Sasha is charmed. 

“Why didn’t you bond before now?”

Sasha is, suddenly, less charmed. “Why don’t you ask Nicky?”

“He won’t tell me.” Nylander looks a little frustrated. “He tells me everything. He always has. He won’t tell me this though.”

 

Sasha looks at him, from the corners of his eyes. He looks earnest but Sasha can’t tell what he’s feeling, which means either this _infant_ is better at blocking than Sasha will ever be, or else Nicky has pulled up the drawbridge. 

“It was my fault,” says Sasha, abruptly. “I’m an idiot. Thought it would happen all by itself.”

There’s a wash of warmth. Nylander hasn’t moved. His gaze is fixed on the ice, as though the fourth line could ever be that mesmerising. 

When the game is over and the reporters safely tucked up wherever reporters go to file their stories, Sasha and Nylander wait for Nicky. A pair of more devoted bondmates have never been seen, Sasha is sure. 

There’s sceptical amusement from Nicky. 

“I show you devotion,” says Sasha, with a wide smile, when Nicky steps out of the locker room and into Nylander’s arms. Burkie is hot on his heels. He looks at Sasha with slightly wide eyes. 

“I don’t bite, Burt,” says Sasha, flashing his teeth. 

“That’s a lie,” say Nicky and Nylander in perfect creepy unison.

Willy bursts out through the door and Burkie is wrapped up by him before Sasha has time to blink. 

Sasha looks at Nicky. “Do we have the most co-dependent soulmates in the whole _world_ on our team?”

Nicky’s expression says it all.

“Fine,” says Sasha. He leans in to give Nicky a kiss while Willy hustles Burkie away for some tender loving care and ketchup. “Will I see you tomorrow?” 

“You’ll see me this evening,” says Nicky. “You’re coming to my house.”

Sasha looks between Nicky and Nylander. Their heads are close together, their hair mingling, so it is not a wide arc, to look between the two. 

“Do you mind, Niblet?” asks Sasha. He can’t feel anything that suggests Nylander is anything other than relaxed. 

“It’s Nicky’s house,” says Nylander. “And his bed is big.”

_Oh_. Sasha doesn’t hide his shock and Nicky doesn’t hide his amusement. “You have orgies now, Nicky?” 

“Not since we won the gold medal,” says Nicky so cheerfully that Sasha knows that he’s joking.

The drive back to Nicky’s house isn’t quiet. Sasha is happy for Nylander to ride shotgun but he can’t get behind his choice in music so they spend the time happily bickering about what to listen to while Nicky concentrates on driving, while radiating such placid contentment that Sasha feels as though he’s been wrapped up in a blanket. 

Nicky isn’t superstitious but he has a routine when he gets home. He will change into sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. He will make a mug of tea that will go cold while he drinks Gatorade that he hates. He will poke at whatever is in the fridge and press the tip of his finger to his pursed lips. “I think we’ll order in.” 

“Always the same, Nicky,” says Sasha, fondly. He is wearing a pair of Nicky’s sweats and he’s barefoot, because Nicky believes in underfloor heating as strongly as he believes in perfect saucer passes.

Nicky puts in the call for bucketloads of pasta and he tugs Sasha by the hand to sit on the couch with him. Apparently, Nicky wants to make out. Maybe this is part of his preferred routine, too. They kiss until Sasha's lips are sore and Nicky’s face is ruddy with beard burn and until Nylander clears his throat and puts takeout bags on the coffee table in front of them. 

Nylander is smiling at them, in a way that is far too knowing for someone so young. Sasha looks him up and down. He’s wearing a hoodie which does nothing to distract from his short, tight shorts. 

“Yes,” says Nicky. “Apparently, I like exhibitionists.” He stands up. Sasha can see how Nylander’s gaze flickers to the front of Nicky’s sweatpants.

“We are not the only exhibitionists, Nicky,” says Sasha and there is a wave of amusement rippling around the room. 

“Let’s eat,” says Nicky. His words and his tone are dismissive; the orbit of his hips and the sticky warmth of his desire are not.

Sasha doesn’t remember much of the meal, steeped in fondness and carbs, but he knows he is content. 

“They never say,” he says, feeling hesitant enough that Nicky’s head snaps towards him like a concerned prairie dog. “In Russia. They never say that soulmates can be like this.”

“What do they say?” asks Nicky, gently. He never enquired much, when they were in Moscow during the lock-out. Sasha thinks that, even then, people thought that he and Sasha were bonded, in the way of any Russian sports star. 

“There are bonds between teammates,” says Sasha. “Like me and Kuzy, and me and Orlov. And there are bonds between husband and wife.”

“And those are the only bonds?” Nylander doesn’t just _look_ stricken; Sasha can feel his concern and it should irritate him, but it’s not condescending. If anything, it borders on panic. Nicky reaches over and covers Nylander’s hand with his and Nylander relaxes, though he scowls at Nicky. “It’s sad, okay.” 

“It is sad,” says Nicky, equably. His eyes, when he looks at Sasha, are sharp. “What about you and Zhenya? You were so young when you bonded and you don’t play together that often.”

Sasha shrugs. He’s never really understood the bond between him and Zhenya though he knows it’s probably indestructible by now. 

“We have lots of bonds in Sweden,” says Nylander, not at all helpfully.

“If you will frolic naked in saunas,” mutters Sasha at his empty plate. 

‘Not just saunas,” says Nicky. He’s attempting to lighten the mood and, what’s worse, he’s succeeding. 

“Do you not get tired, Nicky?” asks Sasha. He feels tired. “Keeping us all happy?”

“If you’re happy,” says Nicky. “I’m happy. Of course.” 

Nylander stands up and he goes over to Nicky. They have a silent conversation, it seems, and Nicky pushes his chair back. 

“If my chair collapses,” he says.

“It hasn’t yet,” says Nylander and he sits on Nicky’s lap and hides his face against Nicky’s neck and it’s just like at Oshie’s party, except Sasha thinks he may understand it a little better. Nicky rests one hand on Nylander’s thigh, and the other sweeps up and down his back, and his eyes drift close. Nylander’s a smart boy. He cares for Nicky, so much. Sasha wonders that he was ever jealous.

“Come here,” says Nicky, and he reaches his hand out to Sasha. 

“Chair will definitely collapse,” says Sasha and Nicky laughs. 

“Just kiss me, please, Sasha.”

It’s like one of those things at the science museum, Sasha thinks wildly, groping for the term. A Faraday cage. It’s like Nicky sends out forks of lightning, wherever Sasha and Nylander touch him, only it’s not safe. It skewers Sasha and sets him alight; he’s sure if he opened his eyes, they would all be glowing. He’s sure that the lights in Nicky’s kitchen will blow, the lights in the kitchen, the lights in the whole house, the whole neighbourhood and all of DC.

Sasha pulls back, gasping, and his is not the only chest heaving. 

The lights in the kitchen do not even flicker.

“Bed,” says Nicky, licking his lips. 

They touch Nicky, and they are careful not to touch each other, Nylander and Sasha. They touch Nicky, as though that is any safer. 

“Fuck,” says Nicky, when Nylander slides inside him. 

“Fuck,” says Sasha, when Nicky’s mouth engulfs him. 

(“Fuck,” says Zhenya over the phone, the next morning, “you, for not fucking shielding, you absolute asshole.”)

Nylander runs his fingers up Nicky’s quivering thighs and Sasha could swear he feels it, too, feather-light and almost too much. 

“I love you, William,” says Nicky, and he kisses Nylander, and they must both taste of Sasha now. 

“And you, Sasha,” says Nicky, and, yes, Sasha is right, as he carefully explores Nicky’s mouth.

Sasha is Russian; he’s not good at God, or gods, but Nicky has conducted some ritual tonight; some ancient rite from somewhere deep in his blood and marrow. There are enough myths that state that soulbonds are a celestial gift and Sasha giggles to himself, as only a man who has seen so many stars can.

“Fuck,” says Sasha, lying back. 

“Yes,” says Nylander, resting his head on Nicky’s bitten-red chest.

“I take it the earth moved for you, darling,” says Nicky.

“I hate you,” says Sasha. 

Nicky opens one eye and grins. “You don’t.”

Sasha edges closer, hooking a leg over one of Nicky’s thighs. 

“Hmph,” he says. 

“Mm?”

“I really can’t keep calling you Nylander,” says Sasha.

William grins. “Prob’ly not, if we’re gonna win things together.”

“Win things?” asks Sasha, puzzled, as though there is anything more to be won, but he is a little come-dizzy and wrung-out.

“I like winning things with Nicke,” says William, lacing his fingers with Nicky’s. “I might like winning things with you, too.”

Oh, thinks Sasha. That’s right. They’re hockey players. He grins, as though he knew all along what William was saying. He leans over and touches his lips to William’s and Nicky gasps beneath them. 

“Yes,” he says. “Let’s.”


End file.
